Thursday 28 February 2013

DAY 32: Disabled Parking

As a child, my mother would often associate luck with parking.  An empty parking space, spotted within the first five minutes of our visit to the store, would determine her spending mood.  And if that parking space happened to be within twenty paces to the store’s entrance, our shopping trolley would also include an early Christmas present.

Most of our visits to the local shopping centre in Johannesburg would unfortunately bring us to a parking space on the opposite ends of the earth.  My sister and I would plead persistently to be excused from my mother’s shopping addiction, oblivious to her thinking that someone could steal the car and drive off with both of us in it.

Our rehearsed ritual included my sister happily complying with pushing the shopping cart into the store – me dangling on the edge of the trolley, ignoring my mother’s cries (warning me from a possible injury), and spending the next hour looking for items written on an extensive list. 

I would often suggest that my mother ignore the illegal parking sign, posted on the pavement – adjacent to the disabled parking, and reserve her VIP spot, five metres from the entrance.
“These are kept for people with special needs,” my mother would insist.
“Aren’t we special?” I would naively ask.
Of course, my mother would brush me off, indicating that her time was limited for a useless, childish debate.

After an excruciating six months of hospitalisation, I was finally given the green light to drive.  My unfortunate car accident in 2008 left me with a partial disability on my left leg, making me unable to tackle long distances.  I adopted a disabled parking sticker on the front window of my car, allowing me access to the parking bay which my mother referred to as “special.”

The reality that Cyprus was not really a disabled-friendly island concerned me, particularly the attitude that a ‘special’ parking bay was reserved on a first-come-first-served basis.  In fact, I even witnessed a police officer absorbing two disabled parking bays while stopping off for a quick bite at the local tavern.
When questioning his motive, the ‘officer of the law’ reversed the conversation and began to focus on my weight as a disability, and even questioned my “penguin walk,” as he mildly referred to it.
“No, you idiot, I’m walking this way by choice!”

I often feel that disabled people are victims of neglect.  It pains me to think that society dwells on the ‘majority rules’ theory.  In the same light, are overweight people considered unacceptable, and should be treated as such?
I’m pleased to observe that Cyprus has finally adopted a conscience, making room for a new channel of thought.  The only challenge is trying to convert the masses to believing that ‘special’ people have a voice, and they need to be heard.
 

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

Wednesday 27 February 2013

DAY 31: Time of the Month

It’s that time of the month again. I’m ignoring the unsolved mystery that almost all the women at work have synchronised their menstrual cycles, but I’m referring to the unfortunate condition which arises at the end of every month; low cash reserves, cupboards and fridges at home appear uninhabited, and your car is yearning for that extra fuel injection which will raise the petrol gage to the halfway mark.

I stormed out of the house this morning, thinking about my recent experience with the frigid customer consultant at the bank.  I was not going to let her vile character affect my mood, but my stomach was working hard at reminding me of the emptiness within, and how a warm cinnamon bun could cure the problem instantly.

Despite the gloomy mood which seems to be dangling above my desk like a large cumulus cloud, I am determined to maintain my focus, and work my way through the copious list of pending matters.  The problem though, is that I am constantly thinking of food and a good flask of strong filtered coffee.

Today’s menu includes a small portion of grilled chicken, basted in a low-fat chutney sauce.  My wife complains that I am not consuming enough vegetables, so I have asked her to prepare a large serving of broccoli, smothered in cheese sauce.  Her response was typically female (if you will permit me); a disgruntled gaze and a swift, discontented nod of disapproval. Time of the month?

In my book Where is Home? – A Journey of Hilarious Contrasts, I refer to money and its inability to acquire health.  Regrettably, at the end of every month, I will insist that a lack of cash, presents a hurdle of medical conditions; depression, anxiety, stress, anger – all of these which inspire one to eat. 

Suddenly, I am aware of a symphony of disgruntled voices beating against my ears; The Three Tenors are in full soprano, Hansel and Gretel are squealing unbearably, and it seems that all the female co-workers are reprising a ‘frustrated mega-bitch’ performance.

I despise this time of the month.

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

Tuesday 26 February 2013

DAY 30: Banking Attitude

I fail to understand how my bank chooses to employ, or in this case allocate, an individual with no public relations skills as their customer consultant.
I was often led to believe that one of the prerequisites for a person answering the phone, should be to smile. I’m not suggesting that the individual overcooks a bubbly response, but a warm tone can suggest an inviting approach – reassuring the caller that his or her needs will be met.

This is certainly not the case with my consultant, who managed to portray a modern-day Medusa, spitting venom throughout my conversation on the phone.  When I had the opportunity to meet this discourteous individual, I failed to find that small element – an indication, if you like, that deep beneath that beastly exterior, is an angel that needs to find her wings.

So after an intimidating five minutes, melancholy returned, bringing on the hopeless pains of hunger.  This intolerable woman had managed to undo all my psychologists’ triumphs, instilling negative emotion, exorcising the evil Mr. Hyde out of my body.  I even felt compelled to visit the bank, with a threatening force of “I’ll take my business elsewhere,” and knocking a sense of compassion into this wretched woman.

Its common knowledge that most government employees (banks included), take their job seriously.  I have no problem with that, but I do have a problem with their approach.  Doctors, for example, believe that we owe them our lives, and in return should remain indebted for their services.  Greece has recently launched a website: www.edosafakelaki.org which showcases a deplorable list of people who have admitted to paying black money for services in the medical sector.  So much for the Hippocratic Oath ethic…
When I was hospitalised for six months after my car accident in 2008, it was implied by the orthopedic surgeon that if I had furnished him with two laptops for his daughters, I would be transferred to a private room in the ward.  The closest he came to a set of laptops, was when I pointed out the twenty percent discount offered by the local electronics store.

Back at the post office, the consultant behind the desk feels that we should be aware of the custom charges for sending a parcel to London or South Africa.  She continues to be the foulest person in the office, stamping away – using the force of an elephant as she continues to plough through her short pile of envelopes.

I can recall my childhood memories of the local librarian, expressing the utmost sensitivity for an overdue library book.  Her stereotypical daunting exterior – a pair of dated 60s-shaped reading glasses supported by a dangling chain around her neck, her cardigan thrown over her shoulders – pinned at the top with a cameo pin, and her hair tied in a bun and held together by a sharpened pencil, inspired a horror scene for The Exorcist. 
Thankfully, her bullying manner did not repel me from visiting and borrowing.

I’ve spent the last hour leaving messages for the bank manager, hoping that my complaint will finally exhort this woman into an office with no windows or oxygen.  Forgive my brutal behaviour, but I strongly feel that the banks in Cyprus have no room to exercise arrogance.  Had they managed their own finances effectively, then we (as a country) would not be knocking on the doors of our neighbours asking for an incomprehensible bailout plan.

“Medusa, if you’re reading my blog, your time as a customer consultant is up.  I’ve had enough of your pompous stance, demeaning brashness and pitiable voice.  Your manager just called, and I’m on my way to change your world – you can bank on that!”

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

Monday 25 February 2013

DAY 29: Work

It’s extremely difficult trying to adapt at work after one week of absence.  You arrive in the morning, only to be greeted by a catastrophic pile of pending issues, papers scattered across your desk, and the luminous coloured posts pinned on the forehead of every memo or worksheet.

It took me approximately one hour before I could curl my anomalous figure out of bed this morning, reluctant to start the daybreak rituals.  But, after a sluggish twenty minutes, I found myself consuming a bowl of cereal, glued to the networks – updating myself on all the happenings around the world.

Thankfully, after five years of ‘communist’ ideals, Cyprus elected a democratic president – eager to embark on his economic and political detoxification process of the island. 
Anne Hathaway had deservedly won an Oscar for her portrayal of Fontaine in Les Miserables, and South African Oscar Pistorius was heading off to court to appeal the harsh conditions of his bail which were set down by chief Magistrate Desmond Nair in the Pretoria Magistrate’s Court on Friday.

It was an eventful morning, as I faced my own trial of dieting – bravely confronting the scales as I took a deep breath and stared at my body mass, blinking loudly across the digital screen. 
Despite the intense dosage of antibiotics, cortisones and inhalers (my poor body was subjected to in the past week), I managed to maintain my weight during my healing period.
Admittedly, I used my sickness as an excuse to ingest more liquids and carbohydrates, but the reality is that I am feeling much better, and the extra slice of bread (needed to withstand the antibiotic) will have to be omitted from the diet.

The week ahead is challenging.  I have welcomed two more work colleagues (from China) into our Marketing group – a positive sign that business is on the increase. 
I started rehearsing for my London debut, polishing every aspect of my one-man comedy show.
My calendar has just informed me that two of my favourite television series will air their latest episodes tonight, and I am trying to decide if a box of light digestive biscuits will see me through the evening, or a cold serving of Greek yoghurt with honey and sunflower seeds.

Either way you look at it, Monday sets the tone for the rest of the week.  I’ll let you know what type of week is in store for me tomorrow.

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com


Sunday 24 February 2013

DAY 28: Mr. Selfridge

Every time I think of London – the most remarkable city on the face of Mother Earth, I inherit a paranormal smile, a warm sense of belonging. 
I posted a calendar-countdown on my desktop last night, observing the days to my upcoming London performance; approximately 120 days until the Paul Lambis Comedy Shows grace the stage at the Dugdale Theatre in Enfield.

A member of my production team paid me a visit yesterday, following up on a tip that the show would include more props and new dialogue.  I reassured her that this was not the case, as we both kicked back on the couch and chatted about odds and ends.
One of the many things we have in common is our fanatical addiction to Downton Abbey, and the horrifying finale of season three which left us all wondering, “what now?”
As we spent the afternoon sipping tea, reminiscing London and its plethora of sights and sounds, the topic of Selfridges emerged, and my experience at London’s finest food halls.

Selfridges is located in the western end of Oxford Street. Voted one of the best department stores in the world, this high end shopping experience offers everything from toys to fashion, music to food. 
It was on my second visit to Selfridges when I experienced my first ‘pie orgasm’; a wonderful mixture of the finest beef, caressed by warm textured gravy, covered by the flakiest pastry and served with a generous portion of mushy peas and fries.
But that’s not all.  The glorious buffet of food presents a unique selection of Chinese cuisine, Italian pastas, Greek lamb, traditional fish and chips, and an oriental mix of vegetarian foods, mystified by their own blend of herbs and spices.

As I continued to share my passion for food, and my fixation for anything British, my friend remained flabbergasted as I denied any following of a television series titled Mr. Selfridge.
“You don’t watch Mr. Selfridge?
“No.”
My negative answer offended her.  After establishing my reasons of being unaware of the shows existence, she continued to explain the essence of the series, and the deep history immersed within the Selfridge phenomenon.

On the outside, Selfridges appeared to be another brilliant store located in London’s busiest shopping ‘Mecca’.  But the truth emerged that this exceptional building set the standards of shopping around the world, offering the consumer a tangible shopping experience, introducing women’s perfume counters at the entrance of the store (intended to distract the potential buyer from the miserable smells emitted on the streets), and displaying captivating scientific and art exhibits in order to promote and market the store.
Mr. Selfridge, a pioneer of the times, conveyed a message of marketing brilliance, giving birth to the theory, “the customer is always right.”

I managed to download the first of seven episodes, and what was meant to be quality time with the family on a Saturday evening, transpired into an animated journey of London in the early 1900s.

I convinced my wife to share in my new discovery, and thankfully, she complied.  We both escaped to the same energetic world, sharing the vision of a brand builder who after all, came from a poor background and built himself an empire.
We all have dreams and aspirations.  I often grumble that our talents are limited until we receive an opportunity that sets them in motion. 

Mr. Selfridge, thank you for making me believe that everything is possible, it’s only a matter of time.

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

Saturday 23 February 2013

DAY 27: Oscar Time

It’s that time of the year again; a lengthy red carpet bombarded by the world’s greatest compilation of Botox’s and tummy-tucks.
Enchanting gowns, diamond earrings, glitzy stilettos and trendy hairdos: a who’s who of fashion icons – all vying for the perfect superstar who will showcase their latest work of art.

One of the disadvantages to watching the Oscars in Europe happens to be the time.  Unfortunately, we will have to set the alarm clock for the live broadcast in the early hours of Sunday morning, or brave the repeat broadcast on Sunday evening – dubbed in Greek. 
I wouldn’t mind watching the show (knowing who the winners are), but the thought of Daniel Day Lewis’ acceptance speech in Greek is off-putting enough.

I was fortunate enough to watch most of the nominated movies (ahead of the awards ceremony), predicting tonight’s winners as follows:

Best Picture:                          Argo
Best Director:                        Steven Spielberg
Best Actor:                             Daniel Day-Lewis
Best Actress:                         Jennifer Lawrence
Best Supporting Actor:         Tommy Lee Jones
Best Supporting Actress:     Anne Hathaway

Whatever the outcome, tonight’s show promises to be one of the most prestigious yet.  I’m hoping that when my alarm clock greets me in the early hours of the morning, my mood will coincide with the energy levels on screen, and my stomach will be strong enough to accept a generous helping of heated popcorn and sugar-free jelly beans.

Enjoy the show...

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

Friday 22 February 2013

DAY 26: Crime

Oscar Pistorius has been released on bail at the end of an intense hearing which has gripped South Africa and the world.
There was no sign of joy from the Olympian and Paralympian who continued to sob and looked plunged into despair as the magistrate read out his decision.
But there were smiles of relief from Pistorius's family, who gathered in a circle to pray, and a shout of "yes!" from friends who leaped to their feet in the charged courtroom.

I followed most of the ‘trial’ this afternoon from my mobile phone, observing the stream of tweets flowing across my screen.
“I’m relieved, but it’s a long road ahead for Oscar...”
“Let’s not forget the victim...”
“The judge is corrupt!”
“Oscar is not a murderer – it was a huge mistake.”
As I continued to observe the endless flow of mixed emotions, I sat back thinking of my home South Africa, and the day I said goodbye...

South Africa is one of the most magical places on earth.  It's an astonishing country, blessed with panoramic beauty and wonderful, hospitable people.  But let’s not forget that South Africa is plagued by ruinous crime statistics – some of which echo the aftermath of a civil war.
I often compare my exodus to that of a refugee; we left South Africa to avoid the escalating crime rate, and certainly not by choice.

So when ignorant golfing estates (such as the one where Oscar Pistorius’ home is located), post a comment on their website bragging about their ‘security’, one should remind them that in South Africa, anything is possible.

Speaking from experience, I lived in a ‘secure’ townhouse complex on the outskirts of Johannesburg with twenty-four hour security.  I woke up one morning to find my car stolen, with no forced entry into the estate, and our security guard at the gated entrance – signing a visitor in.  When I questioned if he had seen or heard anything, he remained oblivious to what had happened.  Our investigation later proved that it had been an inside-job, despite management turning a blind eye to the vulnerability of our security system.

The South African judicial system finally came under the spotlight, flaunting their amateur acting skills in the presence of the world’s media.  Bravo!
Oscar’s bail hearing mirrored the OJ Simpson trial – I can only imagine what these corrupt actors have in store for the Olympian when the real trial starts in June.

Oscar did not deny killing Reeva – he claims it was an accident.  The South African Judicial system has managed to use Oscar as a chess piece, demonstrating their zero tolerance for murderers.  Why is it then, that my friend’s murderer was released on a mere 250 rand (25 euro) bail, only to be charged with another murder a week later? 

Oscar my friend, unfortunately it will not be a short road.  It’s typical that when you are at your peak, the world will cheer for your success.  But when you are at your worst, they are ready to bury you.  Be strong – you are still a beacon of hope for all those who have experienced some form of disability. 
I don’t believe your killing Reeva was intentional.  After all, you had so much going for you; sponsors, endorsements, success...  You will rise up again.

Please don’t prove us wrong...

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

Thursday 21 February 2013

DAY 25: Slot Machines

My father would often compare my eating habits to a slot machine: “Everything going in and nothing coming out.”
As a child, I would ignore this remark – holding his obsession for casinos responsible for the outbursts.  But if my father had visited this afternoon, his comment would not have been in vain.

This is the sixth consecutive day I’ve been under ‘house arrest’, following my doctor’s orders for a speedy recovery.  Despite the temptations of escaping with my car and heading for the coast, I’ve maintained my couch potato status, transforming myself into a repulsive hermit; befitting for the upcoming carnival celebrations.

If I had the power, I would rewind the clock and confess my sins to a local priest: “Forgive me Father, I have sinned...I’ve spent most of today eating as if it was my last day on earth.”
I started my morning with an adequate breakfast – a bowl of oats with low fat milk: 120 calories.
The mid-morning hunger cries returned as The Three Tenors appeared after their long absence.  We were singing joyfully together as I met their needs with a slice of apple pie: 250 calories
By lunchtime, my three monstrous invaders were singing for last night’s leftovers – Spaghetti Bolognaise: 500 calories

My wife returned from her errands, offering me a bowl of diced fruit; I felt no remorse for this serving.  Dinner arrived with a hearty meal of grilled pork kebab, pita bread and Greek yoghurt: 500 calories
The slot machine continued to add my contributions well into the early evening, totalling up my losses to 1500 calories; there were no signs of a possible payout.

As a result of my excessive eating, my moods have been inconsistent.  I’m finding it difficult to maintain a smile on my face, when The Three Tenors are wide awake, reminding me of the blissful selection of chocolate covered biscuits in the cupboard.
Goodnight my friends, it’s going to be an early night.  I can’t afford any more losses.

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

Wednesday 20 February 2013

DAY 24: Pacman

One of my favourite games as a child was the exhilarating Pacman.  I remember spending countless hours before the television – my hand firmly bound to the joystick of my Atari game console. 
My father surprised us one evening with this dream box, concealed under his trench coat as he made his way through the front door.  Joyfully, I grasped the gift from my father, kissing him contently on the cheek and dashing to the living room to set up our new world of entertainment.
As I continued to unravel the Atari out of the myriad layers of polystyrene, a magnificent vision appeared before me, echoing an alluring sound that would invite me to enter an everlasting relationship with the machine.

The Atari console arrived complete with four joysticks – two of them suitable for Pacman and Space Invaders – the second pair designed for Asteroids and Breakout.  With one expensive, yet highly-appreciated gesture, my father managed to change our world overnight. 

I recall losing a considerable amount of weight during this phase of ‘electronic comfort’.  In fact, I often pleaded with my mother, declaring my intentions to skip dinner, and challenge my own high scores.  My obsession soon became evident through my declining school grades, limiting my bathroom visits (unless it was an absolute necessity), and even restarting the Pacman game if one of the formidable ghosts managed to confront my yellow, sweet-rounded hero in the first round.

Pacman re-entered my world recently as the familiar introductory music channelled its way through the upstairs passage, all the way through to the downstairs study.  I paused for a moment, as a series of childhood memories reawakened; I found myself in my son’s room as he lay on his bed, working his way through the labyrinth of Pac-dots, dodging the ghosts through every corner of the maze.
“This game is so annoying,” he screamed, “those horrible things keep eating me.”
“You need to be quick,” I replied.
“Show me.”
Two simple words; that’s all I needed.  My son presented me with the ultimate challenge. 

I arrogantly took my seat before the computer screen, familiarised myself with the cursor keys, and within seconds, I was achieving the inevitable – my son was staring speechless.
“Welcome to my world,” I remarked sarcastically, observing his flustered expression.
Admittedly, I found myself glued to the screen for hours, overlooking my recent commitment to the news, disregarding dinner, and finally retiring after moving to the fourth level. 

Could ‘Pacman’ be the answer to my dieting prayers? 
As Pacman continued to swallow the endless streams of dots, I noticed my appetite oddly declining, and my motivational spirits thriving. 

It’s my second day of incessant Pacman use and I have successfully managed to triple my score and reach the seventh level.  My food intake has reduced dramatically to almost half, yet my energy levels have astonishingly surpassed my expectations. 
Despite my wife’s concerns of her husband turning into a video junkie, I am determined to include a ‘healthy’ dose of Pacman into my new weight plan.  As for the dosage, I feel I have earned the right to exercise my own ‘healthy’ prescribed amount.

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

Tuesday 19 February 2013

DAY 23: Time

I’ve been confined to the couch for the past twenty-four hours.  One would think that there’s a severe snow blizzard outside, warding me off from any external activity. 
Truthfully, since the doctor diagnosed my ‘border’ bronchial-pneumonia, I’ve inherited the dreamy blanket and couch, selfishly granting me exclusive use until my recovery, and annoying my spouse immeasurably.
“I cannot wait for you to go back to work,” she continued cursing, denying me my temporary freedom.  “I will have more time on my hands.”
I responded with a nifty silence, avoiding any potential argument that could ruin my blissful domain.

My wife’s aggravated tone was in response to the choice of programme I settled upon, after an eventful ten minutes of channel surfing.  I was certainly not going to ruin my short-term stay at home with any reality programme, but my fingers played between all the news networks, eager for an update on the Oscar Pistorius trial. Needless to say, all of them were reporting similar stories, reminding me of a rehearsed chorus.

My short heaven was interrupted abruptly by my wife’s finger, selecting American Idol as her choice for the morning’s entertainment.  I was forced to endure an infuriating four hours with the shallowest entourage of judges: the expired Mariah Carey, the candy-coated unrefined Nicki Minaj, the supercilious Randy Jackson and the innocuous Keith Urban.  I feel sorry for you Keith. I don’t think ‘American Idol’ is working to boost your career...

I pleaded senselessly to find a mutual show which would cater for both requirements – the Food Network seemed to be the only channel appealing to our senses.  As we observed The Barefoot Contessa whipping up a delectable luncheon for her retired group of socialites, I changed the channel again – envious of the ‘picnic-on-the-beach’ lifestyle.

Having all this extra ‘time’ on your hands proves to be self-destructive as you are suddenly made aware of the surplus of cake, chocolates and crisps (in the kitchen cupboard), singing for your attention.
I observed my wife as she multi-tasked her way around jewellery designing, fashion styling, dealing with her clients on the phone, washing our clothes and preparing lunch.  Truly, a remarkable individual, who needs to be glorified at some stage; I will leave that for another time.

It just dawned on me that my Paul Lambis Comedy Shows will be staged in London in less than four months.  I wonder how much weight I will have lost in four months...
I’ve given it my top priority to start working on the script again, advised by my family to fine-tune some scenes to appear less promiscuous for my London audience – but I believe that one should never change a winning formula. 
I was overwhelmed with the success of the shows in Cyprus, and I’m only hoping that London will prove the same.  I’ve also received word that my agent in South Africa is working insistently to finalise the shows in Johannesburg and Cape Town.  I’m hoping that by the time I reunite with my South African audience, the Oscar Pistorius ordeal will long be over.  Time will tell...

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

Monday 18 February 2013

DAY 22: Cliff-hangers

I’m officially a walking zombie.  I’ve spent most of the day walking around the house as an extra for The Walking Dead.  Another visit this morning to the doctor confirmed an additional course of antibiotics, a translucent syrup (which is supposed to relieve the coughing symptoms), and a series of inhalers aimed at alleviating the shortness of breath.
I’m hoping that this new ‘recipe’ will see me through the night, and grant me uninterrupted rest.

Despite the fiddly evening of coughing fits, I woke up feeling lighter – two kilos to be exact.  Turning in the night before, I took a few deep breathes, simultaneously thinking about all the cliff-hangers and unanswered questions which have occupied my thoughts the last two days.

  1. Regrettably, Cyprus has entered a second round of voting, extending the presidential elections saga for another week.  I’m hoping that the outcome will be favourable.
  2. The television was echoing sounds from the Vatican, reminding us that a new Pope is at hand.
  3. Reeva Steenkamp – Oscar Pistorius’ deceased girlfriend, will be buried tomorrow – approximately the same time as Oscar takes the stand, and pleads for his life.
  4. Kate Middleton refuses to announce the sex of her baby, so royal enthusiasts will have to wait until the summer.  There is a slight hint that it might be a girl following the Queen’s latest decree that the eldest child of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, irrespective of gender, will be entitled to the throne.
  5. My novel, “Where is Home? – A Journey of Hilarious Contrasts” is being considered for a possible television series, so I’m hanging onto the hope that this will materialise.

I’ve decided to turn in early for the night.  I’ve just finished watching the latest episodes of Dallas and Revenge, and to be honest, the cliff-hangers have added to my stress levels.  My wife is on the prowl, and I’m concerned that the overdose of medication is diluting my thoughts, allowing me to commit to another house chore unknowingly.

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

Sunday 17 February 2013

DAY 21: Elections

My family endured another night of coughing fits and bronchial spasms.  I’m seriously considering calling the village priest, requesting an immediate exorcism.  On the bright side, my diet has entered its third week and I’m surviving.  I should be grateful for this sudden 'detoxification' process, but forgive my bluntness if I refuse to spend another minute on the toilet.
It’s another day in front of the television, but my eyes are hooked on the national channel, following the local elections.

More than one thousand polling stations opened across Cyprus today as the country elects a new president.  About 545,000 people, a record high for Cyprus, are expected to turn out to vote; if there’s no candidate that obtains fifty percent of the vote from the first round, a second round might be held the following Sunday.  I’m hoping this will not be the case. 

Most Cypriots will undoubtedly agree with me that the election advertising campaigns over the last few months have been exceedingly exhausting.  I’m hoping that whatever the outcome, it will certainly move Cyprus into a modern, optimistic and profitable era.  

I mentioned in a past blog that it takes twenty-one days to break a habit; I might have to extend the timeframe.  After shopping on an empty stomach at the local supermarket – something a dieter should never attempt – I managed to stock the fridge at home with wonderful treats.

When I naively offered to attempt the shopping list on Friday night (on my way home from work), I did not realise that the hypermarket would arrange a display of inviting imported chocolates to greet me on arrival. 
I was tempted to sample a small bite, lured to the sales table by a young girl in tight jeans, and rolling my shopping cart forward with two boxes of dark chocolate. 
The second aisle brought me in direct contact with a soirée of German and Danish cheeses – each one of them presented as small, creamy cubes of heaven.  The sampling saga continued in the fourth aisle as I observed the revelation of freshly peeled pomegranates, grounded to create a natural enticing juice. 
Finally, it was the aroma of fresh bread and butter cream biscuits that seized my senses.  I did not submit my hunger emotions to these candidates, but admittedly walked away with one of each for my wife. 

Back at home, I am watching the outcome of the elections, as the three main contenders battle it out.  An informative strip flashes across the bottom of the screen reminding us that Oscar Pistorius is still in prison, denying the charges of premeditated murder. 
I am tempted to reach for a bar of dark chocolate, yearning for a brief sense of comfort, but my coughing persists.  My wife is complaining that I did not adhere to her lengthy shopping list, and she will be forced to leave the house tomorrow for an uncalled for visit to the market.

As Cyprus prepares itself for a new era of politics (hopefully one that does not conform to the mindset of the previous prehistoric dinosaur), I will focus on my family’s well-being, hoping that our local priest answers his phone and eliminates whatever is causing my downfall.

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

Saturday 16 February 2013

DAY 20: The Kardashians

The entire family spent the day at home, plagued by an unpredicted virus.  After a quick visit to the pharmacy, and enough antibiotics to see us through the next few days, we resorted to separate rooms – ensuring that the infuriating spell of the flu would not circulate within the household – boomeranging.

My son retreated to his own bedroom, earphones strapped tightly against his ears – listening to the latest reverberating sounds.  My wife opted for our room, engrossed within the latest fashion magazine, and I resorted to the couch – allowing my anomalous figure to submerge itself within its comforts.
Remote in one hand, the entertainment centre of our home would become my domain for the entire afternoon.

Snuggled under a dreamy blanket, I pursued a line-up of award-winning films: Argo, Django Unchained and my personal favourite, Notting Hill.  As my afternoon transformed into a diminishing light, I prepared a healthy, bland meal for the family – hoping to boost their weakened energy levels. 
My son returned with a paper constructed aeroplane, encouraging me to create the same as we spent the next thirty minutes observing which of the two aircrafts could be thrown the farthest.

We had a good laugh, collapsing simultaneously on the couch as we both interrupted our childlike joy with a challenging cough.  I reached for the remote and landed on the promiscuous Kardashians.
My son giggled vociferously as he noticed my disapproval.  I changed the channel quickly, stumbling upon another episode of Kourtney and Kim Taking Miami.
“Weren’t they ‘taking New York’?” I asked my son.
He continued to laugh, commenting about the Kardashians in a language I was unfamiliar with.  It appeared that at least three channels were airing this horrendous family with their tacky voices and their cloned black hair. 

Has the world really subjected themselves to these shallow degenerates?  Do the Kardashians have a fan base that follows them, and even worse, praises them as ‘examples’ in our society?  I am appalled. 
One might suggest I change the channel; after all, it’s a free world.  But the truth remains in the ratings which suggest The Kardashians is a popular primetime television show. 
“Congratulations Kris, you’ve managed to ‘pimp’ your daughters for financial gain.  With absolute no talent, your overrated family has worked its way into our home.”

Reality TV.  Admittedly, I am not a fan of the phenomenon.  I believe it’s time we reverted to the classics, and looked at the epics as examples for our children.  Perhaps we could try and recapture that conservativeness that our grandparents were famously known for?
I’m officially declaring war against The Kardashians.  Five minutes into their show, and I needed a new dose of antibiotics.

Change the channel please…

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

Friday 15 February 2013

DAY 19: Fallen Hero?

I am finding it difficult to absorb the distressing news surrounding Oscar Pistorius – South Africa’s Olympic and Paralympic icon.  Without sounding dated, Oscar Pistorius appeared early this morning at the Pretoria Magistrate’s Court to face charges of murder; the court denying his bail claiming Pistorius had premeditated the murder of his girlfriend, Reeva Steenkamp.
Pistorius made history in London last year when he became the first double-amputee track athlete to compete in the Olympic Games as well as the Paralympic Games.

In 2008 I was involved in a near-fatal accident which left me paralysed for six months; at the time, the prospect of walking was bleak and uncertain.
It’s customary for people who have suffered an accident of this magnitude to experience a bout of self-pity – it was part of the healing process. 
Shock is the first emotion, followed by Anger.  One begins to question, and surrenders into an abyss of Sympathy. When Acceptance finally emerges, the research begins; the hunt to find something, or someone to associate and reassure.

I entered a labyrinth of motivational books, spiritual verses and hopeful autobiographies.  I searched endlessly to find an icon – a hero, who could become a symbol of hope for my recovery. And, in 2012, he entered my world in the form of Oscar Pistorius.
Oscar’s disability became a symbol of determination – to persevere and reach my goal.  In my own reality programme, I amalgamated my thoughts and ambitions, determined to succeed. After all, if Oscar could do it with no legs, imagine how much easier it would be for me to achieve my aspirations with a mere scar?

I delayed my blog today following the outcome of events.  My thoughts are distorted, and my feelings unsure.  My friends could not understand my emptiness, but I feel that all the promises I had invested were unexpectedly taken.  I’m hoping that Oscar will come through for all those who identified him as their beacon of hope.  At the deep end of the ocean, we are all waiting for that announcement, "An unfortunate mistake," but at the moment, all we can see is a fallen hero. Hopefully he will prove us wrong. 

But the reality is that Oscar has been charged, and Reeva Steenkamp is no longer with us.  And as for what really happened, I guess time will tell. 

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,

Thursday 14 February 2013

DAY 18: Valentine's Day

The most commercialised day is upon us.  Almost every shop I’ve been into this week has been exaggeratedly decorated in red, urging you to spoil the one you love.  As children, we were often caught up in the hype of this well-marketed event, often suggesting to our father that he should get something special for mom.  He often relied on the cliché that, “one did not need a specific day to prove his love.”
My sister and I would find it difficult to grasp such an insensitive opinion, and often blamed my father’s response to his traditional (sometimes ignorant) Cypriot upbringing – unaware of the importance of western traditions.

Admittedly, before the novelty of Valentine’s wore off, I was caught up in the magical lovey-dovey images of hearts, candy and cupid.  In fact, I even proposed to my wife on this day, slipping my question into a fortune cookie at a Chinese restaurant in Johannesburg

But sixteen years into my marriage, I am inclined to agree with my father.  My wife and I have celebrated Valentine’s Day in the past, bringing all the proverbial gifts to the party: chocolate-coated strawberries, antique-silk roses, an intimate evening at our favourite restaurant, or even a weekend trip to a seaside resort and spa.
But the reality lies within our pockets at the moment.  The unfortunate economic climate dictates the quality and quantity of gifts brought to the table. 

So, instead of a shrimp cocktail entrée, Duck a l’Orange (as a main meal) and Crème Brulee for dessert, we will have to settle for grilled chicken breast and chocolate-coated digestive biscuits with coffee.  Not quite what I had in mind, but at least it’s within budget.

As for the diet, I am well within my limits; but if my wife decides to add more to dessert, I will ecstatically accept.  If not, I will resort to the erotic romance waiting patiently for me on my nightstand; Fifty Shades of Grey, and enough steam to encourage Valentine’s on a regular basis.

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  
For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online, 
visit www.paul-lambis.com

Wednesday 13 February 2013

DAY 17: False Advertising

How many times are we lured into buying something – basing our decision entirely on the image portrayed on the packaging?
For example, the “Instant Cake Mix” at the local supermarket, displays a flawless vanilla sponge cake, drizzled with a layer of syrup-drenched Maraschino cherries.  And what’s even more convincing, are the contented faces of the children, observing their mother as she attempts to take a slice of her ‘mammoth’ creation.
Needless to say, the final product of your cake mix looks nothing like the advertised image; you end up spending the rest of your afternoon cleaning the worthless mess in your kitchen – cursing dreadfully.

As an experienced advertiser and ‘marketeer’, I found myself on the receiving end of the stick this morning, and admittedly was not impressed.  My wife purchased a box of underwear for me – the “XXL” size could not have been more visible on the packaging, as was the picture of a robust male, flexing his muscles.
After an excruciating three minutes, and incalculable attempts to stretch the pair of underwear from one end of the room to the other, I slipped into my new briefs, looking nothing like the image on the box. 
Standing in front of my full length mirror, I stared at my whopping reflection – feeling angry and threatened at the same time. 
My wife tried to console me by complimenting my weight loss, but all I could think of was David Beckham, and his newly launched advertising campaign for H & M. 
Beckham complimented his new line of underwear by saying, “it’s a true reflection of what every man wants to wear.” 
“Well David, let me know if this is a true reflection of the image conjured up in your mind, when you were designing your line of clothing?”

I have invested in a plethora of dieting books over the years.  One of these books (written by an American-Greek nutritionist), deals with the psychological aspects of dieting.  “It’s important to take all your negative emotions, and transform them into positive and motivational feelings.”
Easier said than done, when all I wanted to do was contact the manufacturing clothing company, and sue them for every damn penny!
It’s not their fault that I am ‘slightly’ overweight, but I would appreciate a more realistic approach when advertising an “XXL” size of briefs. 
Don’t use an undersized, malnourished model to represent my group of people – thoughtless bastards!

I’m on an advertising protest.  I am seriously reconsidering my approach to conveying the message, and I encourage you all to do the same.  It’s time we all took a stand against the false advertising which exists out there… 
My first target is McDonalds.  The double cheeseburger advertised on every damn billboard in Cyprus is not a true representation of the final product.  And as for the “100% pure beef” message, screaming across the top left corner – I’ll leave that to your imagination.

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  
For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online, visit www.paul-lambis.com

Tuesday 12 February 2013

DAY 16: Trials and Tribulations

I’m convinced that there’s someone out there chanting my name over a voodoo pot.  I’m not a superstitious human being, but there must be some explanation for all the obstacles which are forever chasing me.

I recently collected my car from the garage after some invalid decided to parallel-park next to me, simultaneously taking out my entire bumper.  It was almost a ‘hit and run’ episode, but thankfully the cameras (posted on every corner of the office park where I work), caught the fool on tape, and forced him to admit his crime.
Upon confrontation, he tried to offer me a parking lesson, ignoring the fact that my car was parked lawfully and his happened to swallow up three quarters of the pavement – totally obstructing the ramp for the disabled.
As I raised my voice sternly, he withdrew like a tortoise to its shell; I’m assuming my weight had something to do with it.

Almost two weeks into the second month of the year, and my son is rushed to hospital for an acute asthma attack.  Back on antibiotics and a strong dose of steroids, we returned home and are on the path to recovery.
I almost ran over a woman who was attempting to cross the road – mobile in one hand and a cigarette in the other, who accused me of negligence? 
And finally, I arrived at work exceedingly late, and my bank manager calls to verify my existence on this planet.  Apparently someone with the same name passed away last night, and my manager was following up with a call to see, “if it was me who kicked the bucket.”
I assured her that I was alive and well, and that all my monthly payments (due to the bank), would continue as normal.

I was trying to find some element of hope which would encourage me to get through this bizarre day.  My wife called to confirm my presence at lunch; boiled chicken with lemon – how tempting.  My work colleague is painfully quiet today – thankfully, there’s no food association there. 
A friend of mine has invited me to her newly launched diner, and I’m tempted to attack her sizzling barbeque pork ribs. No sexual connotation there...

But, every cloud has a silver lining.  Mine happens to air tonight at 9pm in the form of “Dallas.”  I am seriously obsessed with the second series; intrigue, sex, greed, power, vengeance – everything you could ever wish for, crammed into a forty-five minute episode (and, in high definition).  But what concerns me is the future absence of Larry Hagman – the devious J.R. Ewing.

The producers of the show have reported that Dallas will culminate with the death and subsequent funeral of the veteran actor.  Larry Hagman had already finished filming most of his scenes for the second season, but the show had to undergo script and production changes to deal with the actor’s absence.  The production team has decided to devote a full episode to the death of Hagman’s iconic character and the fallout of such an event on the show’s fictional universe.

Although I am finding it difficult to conceal my excitement for tonight’s show, I remain concerned as to the life-span of television’s most successful primetime epic.  After all, is there life after J.R. Ewing? We’ll have to wait and see.

In the meantime, I’m back on solid ground.  That ‘witch’ who is brewing up my stew of trials and tribulations better take into account that I have a stream of followers who are supporting me (on my diet and through my blog).  With so much support, it’s almost impossible to fail.
My grandmother once said: “Problems are given to us to test our strength.”  If that’s the case, then I better gear up for a thicker coat of skin. 

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul


Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  
For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online, visit www.paul-lambis.com